We continued our journey toward Sivend, going for several hours through a mountain gap. We did not visit the village, but went up to an eminence near by, where its inhabitants lived during the summer. We found there about 120 huts standing in a line, close to each other. The whole settlement resembled a bazaar; and as the huts were closed on three sides and always remained wide open on the fourth, the huts and everything in them were open to every one alike, as much as if all the huts had formed but one house. One hundred and twenty families live here together in simple patriarchal fashion; and although there be rich and poor amongst them, a theft rarely occurs. Indeed people said that the population of the whole village were the descendants of one common ancestor, and lived together on terms of the most intimate relationship; and that, even to this day, they were governed by the head of the family, who was both judge and priest to them, and lived apart in a white tent.

TAKH-TA-RA-WAN (A Moving Throne used by the Persian Nobility).

In leaving this place, on the 2nd of October, we proceeded towards the most interesting parts of Persia. The caravan was not far from Kenare, in the vicinity of which the celebrated ruins of Persepolis are to be seen. With the prospect of soon seeing these ruins before me, I found the progress of the caravan rather slow, and determined to visit them by myself, after having inquired of some of my companions, who knew the country throughout, the shortest road leading to them. The caravan had left Sivend before midnight, and when we arrived at the promontory where the extensive plain of Mardesht begins, I separated from them, and, keeping continually to the left, I followed the mountain track. For some time yet I heard through the calm night the monotonous jingling of the caravan bells. I marched on with watchful eyes, looking out all the time for the much-mentioned ruins, the remarkable architectural monuments of remote antiquity. After lapse of about a quarter of an hour there loomed up in the dubious light of the dawning morning tall forms, looking like so many spectres. The stillness around me seemed awful, and the clatter of my animal's small shoe sounded far away in the unpeopled solitude. A MORNING REVERIE.I now came to the celebrated steps, so familiar to most people through engravings of them. At sight of them I paused, deeply moved, and stood motionless for a few minutes. I dismounted, and, drawing nearer, I went up the steps with feelings of piety and profound veneration, then passed through the gigantic gate to the row of columns. I sat down on a large block and, sunk in deep reverie, gazed upon the columns and the ruins around me; and sitting there for a long time without stirring, it seemed to me as if the spectacle of these ruins of four thousand years ago had turned me, too, into a statue. The sublimity of the ancient monuments of Persepolis cannot fail deeply to affect the traveller from whatever point of view he may have approached them for the first time, even if he has seen them in broad daylight. My feelings, then, may be easily imagined, who had been longing to see them with feverish impatience, and saw them suddenly burst upon my sight in the spectral twilight of the early dawn. As I sat gazing with wrapt attention at the tall columns, they appeared to me like gigantic forms which had risen from the remote past of forty centuries to tell me, the traveller who had strayed here from the far West, in language mute but eloquent, of the marvels of past ages in the East. I did not awake from my reverie until the sun had risen from behind the mountains and touched with golden tints the heads of the columns, showing their exquisite workmanship. And in a moment, as if a huge curtain had been suddenly drawn aside, a very different spectacle presented itself to my dazzled eyes—Persepolis bathing in a sea of brilliant light. The sombre blocks of marble, the darkling columns and walls all disappeared as if by enchantment, and in their places, glowing in a flood of golden sunshine, beckoned to me on every side exquisitely carved capitals of columns, reliefs of wonderful beauty, all so natural, so fresh as if the last sounds of the chisel had just died away. One sculptured relief shows a solemn procession, in which every man is walking with measured step; on another a troop of prisoners, chained to each other by their necks, are advancing slowly in front of the proud victor; another again represents a gigantic man struggling with a monster. Looking up you see, in several places, a king sitting, with earnest mien, on his throne, before him the sacred fire blazing, and at back of him standing two servants, one holding a long staff, and the other a sun umbrella. The finished accuracy shown in the dresses and the figures is truly admirable; but the wonderful art exhibited in the shaping of the features and in the various expressions of the human countenance is what lends such a peculiar charm to these reliefs, and makes one almost imagine that the cold marble will speak.

I passed three days among these remarkable ruins, which kindle not only the fervid imagination of the young traveller, but rouse the enthusiasm of grave thinkers and antiquarians rich in knowledge and experience. One is at a loss to know which more to admire, the extraordinary manual skill, or the exquisite taste visible everywhere, in every part of the preserved ruins. Here, as in Egypt, may be seen huge blocks of stone, from forty to fifty feet long, fitted together, in spite of their enormous weight, with such nicety that one can only with great difficulty discover the place where they are joined.

I met in the immediate neighbourhood of Persepolis with nomadic Turks, who were overjoyed at seeing me, a supposed countryman of theirs. The Turkish language is not spoken much in Fars, and these poor people seemed so delighted with the chance of having a talk in their own language, that in the kindness of their hearts they provided me, during my whole stay, with bread and milk, and even took care of my ass. Some of these men advised me strongly not to remain over night at the ruins on account of the innumerable evil spirits that haunted them, and told me that the devs and djins were making an infernal noise. They said that Thakhti Djemshid (Djemshid's Throne)—the native name for Persepolis—was the work of the fabled king Djemshid.

This king is said to have had a cup, with which he had only to touch his lips, in order to realize all his heart's desires; at the mere touch of the cup, stones would come flying from the east, and artists from the west. The numerous verses and inscriptions on every part of the walls testify to the great respect entertained by the Persians for Persepolis. The legend has it that these buildings stood intact and strong for ever so long a time, and that during that time Persia was happy and flourishing, and no sort of harm or misfortune ever befell her. Later on the Arabs came, and they envied the Shi-ites for these wonderful buildings, and in their envy they mutilated the statues and figures, threw down the columns and left everywhere the traces of their destructive spirit. After them came the Frengis, over Bender Bushir (from India), to gratify their passion for treasures; they ransacked the place and took away with them immense quantities of gold and diamonds. The Frengis carried away besides large blocks of stone for talismans. Since that time adversity and misery had been the lot of Persia; Shiraz was visited by an earthquake, then came the cholera, the famine, and so forth.

This is the account the Persians give of the ruins, but the Turkish Nomads, the remains of the former Seldjuk armies, look at them in a very different light. VANDALISM IN PERSIA.To them the masterpieces of architecture and sculpture are objects of the utmost indifference, and they will often pull down the proudest and most admirable monument for the sake of obtaining a few ounces of the lead which holds together the several segments or portions of the gigantic columns. The children are delighted to see one of these columns come down by itself; they immediately make a rush at it, and scoop the lead out of the crevices of the stones. Sometimes they manage to obtain, after all this wanton destruction, lead enough for a couple of bullets; but the vandalism of the Turks cares very little about the damage done to works of art.

I felt a special interest in the names of the older and more recent Asiatic travellers, which I found carved in many places about the ruins. I met with even Hebrew inscriptions dating, it is alleged, from the time of the first captivity of the Jews, and written by the unfortunate men then dragged into slavery. Most names were those of renowned English travellers; of German names there were comparatively few, and I grieved at not being able to find a single Hungarian after two days' search. I asked myself if I were the first of my countrymen who had visited this interesting country with its remarkable ruins. Next day, I was delighted to come across the following Hungarian inscription, "MarÓthi IstvÁn, 1839," in a recess of a window, as I was examining the base of an immense structure, built of black marble. I examined my countryman's writing with a childish triumph; and to relieve its loneliness, I added my own name for companionship, writing above the latter, "Eljen a Magyar!" (Hungary for ever!)

A caravan, camping outside the village and consisting mostly of pilgrims returning from Kerbela, was starting a little after midnight. I joined it, and on the following morning I was glad to learn that I had every reason to be satisfied with having done so, for all of the travellers came from Zerkum, the place nearest to Shiraz. They had passed the night here, although it is not far from their native place, in order to afford time to their relatives and friends, to whom they had sent information of their approach, to make the necessary preparations for their festive reception. EMBRACING THE PILGRIMS.As we drew near the village we were met by crowds of people, who were constantly reinforced by newcomers, and there was no end to shaking of hands, embracing and kissing. Every one of the pilgrims from Kerbela was surrounded by a group of village people, and not only he himself, but his ass, too, were carried home in triumph. As we were marching along the streets of the village, I could not help admiring the patience with which the pilgrims bore the ever-increasing felicitations of the villagers. Some of them, especially the stouter ones, were freely perspiring from the many embraces, but they all heroically endured the infliction; nay, they delighted in it, for to have visited Hussein's the beloved martyr's tomb, was tantamount to having been raised above the common herd, and to embrace such a lucky mortal was worth nearly half a pilgrimage to Kerbela.

I left Zerkum in the company of a tcharvadar (owner of animals of burden) and his men, and we proceeded together to Shiraz. These people were from Shiraz, and having been absent from their native place for a long time, they were impatient to get there. Every Persian is given to exaggeration in speaking of the sights and wonders of his native city, but these men went beyond anything I had yet experienced in the way of civic glorification, and I could not help looking forward to something extraordinary in Shiraz. The recollection of some verses by Hafiz, full of praises of the shores of Ruknabad and the flowery places of Musalla, which I had retained in my memory, contributed to raise my expectations to the highest pitch. We had been advancing for about half an hour when the shout of "Ruknabad! Ruknabad!" burst simultaneously from the lips of my companions. I immediately dismounted, thinking we should have to pass over the bridge, crossing the river, and wishing, in doing so, to lead my animal by the bridle; but my pains were all wasted. The Ruknabad river, of which poets deemed it right to sing, had shrunk into an insignificant brook hardly three spans wide, the shallow waters of which gaily leap over its gravel bottom.

I own my expectation about Shiraz received, at this sight, a slight shock, nor were my drooping spirits revived by the appearance of the surrounding country. Cold, bare rocks were staring at me on every side; there was not the slightest trace of vegetation of any kind; yet my companions kept assuring me that we were quite near to Shiraz. We reached at last an opening, called Tenghi Allah Ekber (the pass of Allah Ekber) by the Persians. From this place the traveller obtains his first view of the wide-spreading valley below him, in the centre of which rises the city of Shiraz.